


Amidst the stars

by Sithy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sithy/pseuds/Sithy
Summary: A big 'what if...': Veers survives Hoth and Piett survives the Executor going down. That's just the beginning of their trouble though...





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Rating is likely to go up, reader has been warned!  
> A big thank you to all of you on Tumblr who encouraged me to write and publish this! Thank you :D

_Oh it’s such a perfect day,_

_I’m glad I spent it with you._

_Oh such a perfect day,_

_You just keep me hanging on,_

_You just keep me hanging on._

_\-- Lou Reed, Perfect Day_

\---------

Piett clenched his hand around the command chair as he watched the Rebels swarm around the incomplete Death Star. They were being awfully successful – no doubt they were seeing the results of Ackbar being firmly in control of the Rebel fleet. He winced as he saw another set of TIE-fighters plummet towards the forest moon in flames. Blast those Rebels, anyway.

The proximity alarms blared around him and he’d long since stopped paying attention to them. The Lady Ex was holding so far, though it felt as if she were shuddering beneath him, groaning at being forced to move in tighter spaces than she was made for. He patted the console next to him gently, willing her to hold on.

They had been told by the Emperor himself to not engage with the Rebel fleet in any way. The Death Star was to be handling the battle – a trap laid out for the Rebels. He wasn’t even sure which destroyer had first engaged, but he was sure they were in a very dire situation indeed. The Rebels flew with little concern for themselves, taking out TIE-fighters as they went, swarming around the stardestroyers, the Lady Ex in the middle of it all.

He felt sweat gather under his cap and wiped at it. This was not the moment to appear nervous. He instructed the cannon crews to target the squadron of A-Wings and X-Wings currently approaching, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he really was feeling about all this. He bend over the displays, looking for a pattern, any pattern, to the Rebel attacks.

“Increase forward shields” a sudden panicked voice came from the crewpit. He whipped around, regretting it immediately as he saw an A-Wing fighter on a suicide collision course with Lady Ex. “Increase forward power” he yelled, knowing it was useless yet unable to stand by and do nothing. “Too late!” the Captain yelled.

The next thing he knew was the loudest explosion he ever heard. As he jumped into the crew pit, unthinkingly, he knew it’d be wasted. Senseless reflexes honed by a life of pirate hunting. A direct hit on the bridge would be too much for the emergency bulkheads to catch. He clung to a console, knees buckling, debris stabbing into his back. He had learned to survive even the worst of situations at Axxila. Something in him refused to give in. He was somehow aware of the emergency bulkheads slamming into place, stopping the deafening roar of air being sucked out of the bridge.

For a moment, it was quiet.

\--

Veers had been pacing around the docking bay with the ship lurching beneath him. He’d never felt more out of place and plain useless than right now. Nothing for him and the herd to do than sit tight and wait.

He did hate waiting.

He hated it especially on missions entirely thought up by fleet personnel sitting comfortably in their plush chairs.

As the ship made another stomach rolling lurch he had to steady himself against the wall. It didn’t feel right. Nothing about this insane operation of luring the Rebels with the unfinished Death Star was right. He knew Ackbar was an excellent strategist and he knew the Emperor’s contempt of non-humans would ensure he’d never admit to it. A potentially catastrophical oversight. It seemed the Rebel fleet had successfully engaged the Fleet into battle, despite the Emperor’s insistence they all wait for the Death Star to fire.

He found himself walking towards the bridge out of habit. Not that he’d be more useful there, but he could at least assist Piett in any way possible. Another abrupt move and he figured he might as well be the rock for the pint-sized sailor to lean on. Unsteadily walking along as the Lady Ex bucked underneath him like a wild Bantha, he passed several harassed looking crew. Younglings in their first battle, no doubt.

He heard the roar of the engines when more power was raised to the shields. Somehow, it made his stomach clench. General Veers was a man that trusted his gut instinct, and he took off in a sprint towards the bridge.

\--

The next thing Piett was aware of in the sudden silence was the fact there was no hiss of emergency oxygen sprayed onto the bridge. An emergency option installed by the techs, never meant to function in such extreme conditions. In hindsight he wouldn’t have been able to tell what possessed him to drag himself to the bridge exit, spots swimming in his vision as the lack of oxygen got to him. That’d be the end, then. Lack of oxygen, not at the hands of Lord Vader as he’d feared when he had just got the position on the Executor, but at the hands of some insane Rebel. Disappointing.

_Come along, sailor_. A familiar voice, slightly muffled, hovered near his left ear. Strong hands gripped him under his arms, dragging him out of the crew pit. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, bringing blessed air. He was vaguely aware of the absence of the proximity alarms, their silence somehow louder than the noise he’d been in so far. He tried to speak, he needed to stay with the ship. The commanding officer should never leave a sinking ship.

He tried to say it as he stumbled along, dragged more than he was actually walking, but the voice told him to be quiet, to let himself be rescued protocol be damned for one damned time. Yes, he knew that voice. He’d follow it to the nearest sun and back. Once more the ship lurched around him, but he realized this time it was because that strong, stubborn General had lifted him off of his feet and was racing somewhere. He wanted so badly to tell him it was useless, but he found his vision blurring as what felt like a thousand tiny pieces of the Lady herself stabbing his back and legs.

His last thought was that it was strangely comforting to be in the General’s arms. He must be growing soft with old age, or the lack of oxygen was getting to him. Regardless, he allowed darkness to take him.


	2. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrift with a battle still raging on, Piett questions leaving the ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, the minor character death is referred to (without detail) in this chapter

_I've been through the desert on a horse with no name_  
_It felt good to be out of the rain_  
 _In the desert you can remember your name_  
 _'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain_

_America – A horse with no name_

The familiar stab and hiss of a hypospray was his next conscious feeling. “Good morning, sailor!” That familiar voice was back. Oh, he’d heard that exact greeting many times over the past few months. Perhaps he’d heard it too often, he’d grown fond of it. The slight hum and vibration of the floor under him told him they weren’t in bed, however. He was afraid to open his eyes, but at least the spray was lessening the pain in his back. “Nice of you to wake me up in time for my next shift, General” he wheezed, his voice hoarse and coming painfully.

“Any time, Admiral.” Veers said, slowly coming into focus as he sat next to Piett, medkit in his lap. He was unable to hide the relief in his voice. There was blood on his hands that he was mostly unsuccessfully trying to wipe on the leftover bandages sprawled around him. Piett took in his surroundings, his mind refusing to cooperate fully and not wanting to think about that blood coming from himself. Clearly, they were in one of the Executor’s escape pods. That must mean he had abandoned the ship when she had most needed him.

Veers knew him too well by now and put a gentle hand on his shoulder to ensure he’d remain lying down. “Why did you do it, Max” he croaked “I should have gone down with her.”

Veers’ face twisted with some distant pain. “Please, Admiral. I couldn’t leave you there. Protocol be damned. I couldn’t let you sink with her on this pathetic excuse for a mission.” Piett knew better than to argue, he’d heard the steel in that voice and he knew the tall General had made up his mind.

He also knew there’d be a court martial waiting for him. This whole thing between himself and Max was never supposed to have gotten beyond a one night stand. They’d both face charges, in fact. Abandoning ship, assisting in abandoning ship _and_ fraternization, all enough to be condemned to death in the old times, stripped of rank and sent to some remote planet nowadays. There was nothing left in the Empire for either of them.

The pod was slammed aside by something large hitting it, breaking him out of his thoughts. Piett was unable to keep a yelp of pain quiet. Considering what he got out of he had been lucky, but his back didn’t quite seem to agree with that yet. Veers rummaged around the med kit again and sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve given you all I can safely give you and there’s no more bacta in here.” Piett nodded. “I’ve seen worse days” he whispered, trying to lighten the mood. Oh yes, he had. Memories of night upon night of hunger and the faint cries of an infant rushed at him. He bit his lip, fists clenching involuntarily, willing himself to focus.

“Let’s not make this your worst day.” Veers spoke, bringing him back to the present. His calm gaze drew him back to the present, the memories held at bay by the General’s solid gaze. The wrinkles around Veers eyes seemed a little less tight, at least.

He knew they’d probably been slammed aside by debris or another Rebel ship. The battle was still going on. They were just a sitting duck in a minefield. As he looked out of the viewport, he saw they were slowly spinning away from the Death Star. The Death Star that was supposed to have ended this entire battle before it had even started.

“Where’s Vader?” he spoke up suddenly, once more struggling to get up. Vader had been summoned to the Death Star by the Emperor himself though no reason for it had been given. “I don’t think we can help him anymore, sailor” Veers replied, his hand once more a gentle pressure on Piett’s shoulder. The steel in Max’ voice had now been replaced by deep regret. “You should have left me on the ship” he whispered one more. Max didn’t speak, turning his head away from Piett. “You can’t save the entire universe, Firmus” he said, voice soft now. “But I could save you and I don’t regret what I did. I didn’t save Zev…” his voice broke at that. “Force take the rules, I couldn’t let someone else go for the _greater good_. This entire plan was senseless and doomed to fail from the beginning. We all knew it. I can’t let you go to waste over that.”

He sounded almost defeated. Maximilian Veers never, ever sounded defeated. Yes, he had been hurt badly in battles, his body broken and bloody. He had known great losses, even as recent as the loss of his son during the Hoth campaign. He had seen Veers break down. He had comforted him in the long, dark nights after Hoth and beyond. But never had the great Iron General been _defeated_. An uneasy silence settled in the pod, Piett wishing he could move up and…do what? Pat the berk’s back? Offer comfort while they were floating around aimlessly, facing charges? He closed his eyes against the painful realization about their situation. A part of him knew very well Max had done the only thing he could have done. He was grateful for it, and yet….

Max’ hand found his and he gripped it as firmly as he could. As he opened his eyes again, he found the General looking at him, daring him to deny he’d made the right choice. He could never resist those eyes. He knew he would have done the same for Max had their roles been reversed. No man left behind was the motto of the thundering herd and that included himself nowadays. He closed his eyes once more, not wanting to look at the battle outside the viewport, not wanting to look at the life he’d built up crumbling away.

Yes, they were adrift and on their way to an uncertain future, but the thought of Max getting out of the wreckage alone and having to leave him was worse. He weakly squeezed the General’s hand, wanting him to know, needing him to know that he agreed to his choice. At least now they had a chance at a new life somewhere, somehow.

Veers squeezed his hand gently in return. There was no need for words. They’d just have to figure out where to go from here.


	3. Found

_Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline_  
_Like a row of captured ghosts over old dead grass_  
 _Was never much but we made the most_  
 _Welcome home_

_Radical Face – Welcome home_

A very distinct clunk accompanied by a sudden jerking motion that could only be caused by a tractor beam woke him again. It concerned him he kept slipping away. Veers was on alert, staring out of the window at a stardestroyer that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. They seemed to have had floated away from the worst of the battle – so what was the destroyer doing there?

As the destroyer’s tractor beam pulled them in, the underside of the ship came in focus. It was painted in an odd pattern, almost like multiple tentacles reaching towards a single star. Neither of them recognized the ship which was potentially very bad news. Veers had his free hand over his blaster, clearly ready for anything. His eyes were scanning the ship and the empty space around it, planning for an escape should worst come to worst. Most pods came with their own thruster engines, though they were unlikely to outrun a stardestroyer. Still, Max had made the impossible possible before.

For now, they sat in silence as the destroyer’s tractor beam directed them towards a launch bay. The open launch bay looked for all the world like some big animal’s maw, ready to swallow them. Veers gave Piett’s hand a final squeeze, then positioned himself in front of the pod’s doors as the pod was deposited, surprisingly gentle, into the landing bay. For a moment, nothing happened as the bay’s doors closed and the atmospheric pressure adjusted accordingly. Veers breathed in, steadying himself as he checked the status meters near the door. He then punched in the code to unlock the pod’s door. He had always supported the storm in and ask questions later approach.

Fresh air rushed in, a welcome change to the pod’s stuffy atmosphere. Veers braced himself as they heard slow footsteps approach, hand twitching ever so slightly over his blaster. Definitely military, judging by the measured way in which the person – no, persons -- walked. The Rebels had caught stardestroyers before, though, and Veers’ hand was still on his blaster. He was ready to fight for it and he better be, Piett realized he was of zero help in his current state. There was a worrying sticky wetness to his back despite Veers’ emergency patch up job.

The footsteps approached the pod, then stopped a respectful distance away. Veers’ hand sank away from his blaster slowly, his stance relaxing at which point Piett realized they were safe for now. He struggled to sit up again and Veers immediately turned on him to help. It hurt more than it should after that hypospray and he had to lean heavily on Veers, legs shaking. Some sorry sight he had to make right now. He’d lost his hat and tried to reach up to comb through his hair, but Veers made an exasperated sound at that. He’d at least face his humiliation with some dignity, and ignored his neck screaming at him as he looked up out of the open pod doors.

In front of them was a man they’d both only seen in the official portraits hanging in the Imperial Palace. Tall and intimidating, uniform a stark white against the cerulean blue of his skin, the Empire’s only alien Grand Admiral stood in front of their pod with a completely blank face, as if he were used to picking up stray officers from a doomed ship and it was nothing out of the ordinary for him. The alien cocked his head slightly as he eyed them, intense eyes studying their faces as if he could see straight through them. Piett tried to straighten up a little more, at which the Grand Admiral scoffed. “Please do not pain yourself, Admiral” he finally spoke, his voice deep, his accent cultured and polished, betraying nothing about whatever his native tongue was.

Behind him, several medics were swarming around what looked to be other pods, their hulls blackened by laser hits. Thrawn watched them work for a few moments. “You did good getting him out of there, General” he spoke, turning towards them again. Piett had always known Thrawn had a rather unusual way of handling his ship and crew, but he had not expected the approval of his betrayal of his own ship. One always wondered how much on Coruscant was gossip and how much was truth, but everyone had always agreed Thrawn was unusual (at best) and not just because the Emperor had promoted him to Grand Admiral despite his anti-alien bias. This man liked to do things _his_ way.

The Grand Admiral tapped one long finger against his comm, activating it. “We got the last ones, Captain, proceed to the rendezvous point.” As he tapped his comm again his eyes narrowed, focusing on Piett once more. “Kindly put the Admiral down on the deck before he collapses, General.” he said. Veers hesitated, but after a pained nod from Piett he very carefully sat him down on the deck. Piett had to close his eyes as the pain returned in waves, gritting his teeth. He found himself leaning against Max and not even caring about blasted protocol or image anymore. When he opened his eyes, he found Thrawn had sat down next to them as if it was the most common thing to do for a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Fleet. He sitting awfully close, in fact. He’d crossed his legs in a position Piett was sure would be uncomfortable for himself, but looked perfectly natural on the Admiral.

“They will come pick you up, soon, Admiral” he said, Piett noticing that the alien seemed to insist on using rank he felt he no longer deserved. They lapsed into silence, Piett sagging against Max even more, breathing heavily. Thrawn was observing them quietly, but he no longer felt judged by those piercing red eyes, an interesting development. It was extremely hard to read that alien face though he suspected it was more because Thrawn kept it deliberately neutral than anything specific to his species. He still acted as if plucking lost officers from battle was a daily routine, as if a General gently cradling an Admiral was nothing new to him. The silence stretched out, making his nerves flutter again even though Thrawn seemed perfectly happy to stay quiet.

Thankfully, a medic appeared quickly and began stabilizing Piett. The medic made a whistling noise when seeing the state of Piett’s back, telling him he seemed to have at least half of the _Executor_ on him. Blissfully, the medic also renewed the hypospray, taking the edge off of the pain much better than the pod’s hypo. The medic went to check Veers as well, but he waved it off, saying he just wanted a good night’s sleep. Thrawn had gotten up, satisfied they were receiving care. “Where will we go from here?” Veers said, before Thrawn could walk away.

Thrawn was silent for a moment and then spoke. “You two will go to the medwing and get some rest. _We_ will retreat back to where we came from. This was never our battle.” Piett heard Max gasp out a short _what_ next to him. To his surprise, Thrawn turned around at the sound and merely lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t seem at all surprised or offended at having his methods questioned. “You will find, General, that we prefer to retreat if this better suits our purposes. No battle has ever been worth the destruction of an entire Imperial fleet. Especially not one with a project that was foolish to attempt twice.” With that, he nodded at his medical staff and strolled away, seemingly (but probably not) unaware of the confusion his words had brought.

Yes, without a doubt, the words on Thrawn’s unorthodox, some would say un-Imperial methods, hadn’t been mere gossip. As the soothing effect of the hypospray took hold, he let himself slip into darkness, still firmly supported by Veers. He’d get his bearings. Later.


End file.
